


We Should Talk About This

by BrandyFromTheBottle



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: ??? - Freeform, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Kissing, M/M, No Sex, awkward boys, though!, very small
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-05
Updated: 2017-11-05
Packaged: 2019-01-29 14:35:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,951
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12633078
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrandyFromTheBottle/pseuds/BrandyFromTheBottle
Summary: In response to journlxxx's post about multichaptered fics. This was supposed to be, like, 500 words.Bill posed as Ford in Stan's dreams to get Stan to open the portal, giving him information and sweet, sweet, lovings. Enter real Ford who did no such thing. Stan doesn't tell Ford and Ford finds a note about Stan's, ah, activities with not-Ford. Ford feels a bit bad, Stan is confused.https://journalxxx.tumblr.com/post/167053344243/awesome-and-emotional-multichapter-fics-that-i





	We Should Talk About This

**Author's Note:**

> Haha, whoops.

 

Sixer finally corners him in the TV room in the middle of a rerun of _The Duchess Approves_. Stan pretends to ignore him while Ford just hovers. It’s been a long time coming; Ford has been acting weird, either avoiding Stan or looking at him way too close. Stan’s not sure what he did now; they talked, he thought they were moving in the right direction. Ford clears his throat. Stan rolls his eyes and shoots Ford a bored look.

      “Stanley,” Ford starts and, oh, this'll be good. It’s always good when Sixer tries to hide his anxiety behind that imperious attitude. Stan grunts just to be contrary. He almost smirks when Ford frowns. “I... was looking through some of your notes--”

      “Snooping.” Stan says flatly. Ford bristles.

      “I was not snooping! I was looking over your notes and found some of your...ah, other notes.” Now Stan really looks at Ford and frowns. His brother looks really uncomfortable and flushed.  Go figure, always wearing that damn coat. Maybe he's finally overheated and cooked his big ol’ nerd brain.

      “So, you found more notes, so what. I wrote a lot of shit down trying to get you outta that damn portal.” Stan says with a shrug. Ford is beginning to look annoyed. Well, fine, if his brother wants to be a damn drama queen for no reason, let him.

      “No, Stanley. These notes were more...personal.” Ford's looking a little behind Stan’s head.

      “I got no idea what yer talking about, Sixer.” Ford huffs. Yup, he's annoyed.

      “Don't take me for a fool, Stanley. I may not have your people skills but I know when you’re not telling the truth when I have evidence to the contrary!” Stan bristles and stands up.

      “I don't know what the hell yer talking about, _Stanford_ \--”

      “You and Bill, Stanley!” Ford cuts him off, in full bitch fit. Stan anger smooths into irritated confusion.

      “Ford...you already knew about that.” He says slowly. Ford growls in frustration. “Do you need a glass of water? I think the heat’s got to yer brain.” Ford groans, runs one six fingered hand through his hair.

      “The...the sex, Stanley.” Ford almost whispers and Stan’s lucky his hearing aid is on full. And, he's also not because, _fuuuck_. He didn't write that down, did he? Stan was pretty outta it a lot; he tried to write down as much as he could remember. Oh, fuck, what if he did? Ford’s gonna kick him out _again_. And they were making so much progress! No, he can play this cool.

      “So, I know yer a huge nerd, Pointdexter, but most normal people don't consider theoretical physics erotic.” Yeah, still got it. Ford growls and reaches into one of those unfathomable pockets inside his coat. He pulls out a yellowed paper and Stan’s inside do a twirl and dip. Ford marches over and shoves the paper in his face.

      “Well?” Ford is demanding and Stan can't see the words, they're too close. Stan slowly takes the page and feels the blood drain from face.

> “Ford says I got the equation backward. That's why nothing was working yesterday and all the numbers were off. He didn't seem too mad, though, if the sex was anything to go by. (And, wow, Poindexter, where did you even learn how to do that?) He was actually really chill about it—minus the fucking. He says I’m close and I’ve been doing a good job ~~I think he’s forgiven me~~ and that the portal should be open soon. I hope so, he sounds scared. I gotta get some kind of titanium alloy—”

     Stan doesn't read the rest, just crumples the paper and locks his jaw, staring to the right, away from Ford.

      “Well?” Ford demands, again. Stan kind of slumps and sighs.

      “Maybe you can whip up another magic pill to fix me.” Stan mutters and he hopes he can.

      “Stan, there's no pill to fix that.” Ford says, as if he's furious and exasperated with his brother’s stupidity. Stan can't even be angry because for once? He’s a real screw up. And this isn't some stupid kid mistake, this is something that's actually sick and wrong inside of him. “Well?” Ford asks, again.

      “What ya want, Ford? An apology? Fine, sorry. Sorry I helped some fucking demon try to destroy the universe for a piece of tail.”

      “Piece of tail!?” Ford is shouting and, yeah, trying to play this down mighta been a bad idea. "You fornicated with a dream demon wearing my face!”

      “I didn't know it wasn't you!” Stan’s shouting now, too. He was never good with being cornered. Ford’s face does a funny little spasm and becomes unreadable. When did fucking Pointdexter get a poker face?

      “You didn't know?” Ford says slowly. Stan can't follow this fucking emotional rollercoaster.

      “I told ya, Ford. I thought ya were helping me get ya back. I thought…” Stan trails off, Ford doesn't need to know about that. He’s in enough shit right.

      “I see.” Ford says after a long moment. “I... need some time to think about this.”

      “Should I start packing my bags again?” Stan asks, finally looking at his brother’s face. Ford looks shrewd and considering and then annoyed and a little, tiny bit guilty.

      “Ah, no. It’s not...hm.” Ford trails off, already getting absorbed into his nerd brain. He's still looking at Stan like he might want to dissect him later. Stan suppresses a shudder.

      “Ooookay. Then, I'll just...see you at dinner?” Stan slowly sits back down, completely lost. Ford hums thoughtfully, rubbing his chin and frowning.

      “Yes, yes. That's fine.” He waves one of his hands blithely and is already walking away, muttering. Stan stares at the TV. Why is this town so fucking weird?

 

Ford doesn't come up for dinner. Stan’s not sure if Ford is hiding or just doing his brain thing. Stan doesn't worry; worry isn't a thing he does. He deals with it or he doesn’t. So, he eats his pancakes--he can eat what he wants, dammit.

     Stan doesn't see Ford about a week. Stan’s starting to worry--so he does something about it.

 

He goes to the basement with a sandwich and cola and feels exasperated fondness when he finds Ford passed the fuck out and absolutely filthy. His head is smacked into an open book and he’s drooling slightly, kinda smudging the words. His hair is shiny with grease and sticking every which way. He smells like mechanical oil and a slight _eu de_ mad scientist. And Stan, being an asshole, slams the plate down right next to his brother’s face and thaaat was a mistake.

     Ford is on him in a second and there's a gun to his head and Stan hasn't been in this position in a long time and his back is screaming. Ford's eyes are wild and he's pale as fuck. Stan goes very, very still. Ford glares at him; his teeth are bared and his breath is hot and rancid. Stan watches, cautiously, as Ford’s eyes clear. Then comes the look of horror and resignation. Ford leans back, straddling Stan’s hips. He sheaths the gun and rubs tiredly at his temple.

      “Jesus, Stanley, you should know better.”

      “Didn't think you'd go ape shit on me.” Stan says, but, yeah. He knows better. Still, like hell Stan’s gonna let Ford know that. Ford just give him his ‘Stanley, you are the most frustrating man in the multiverse and, yes, I can say because I've been there.’ It's a lot to pack into on look. Stan just grunts.

      “What on earth are you doing down here anyway?” Ford asks. He's still on Stan’s hips. He heavy and warm and Stan hasn't been touched in a looong time. He feels a blush coming. Goddamit.

      “Ain't seen ya in a week, Sixer. Needed to know ya didn't kick it down here.” Stan gives Ford a significant look. “And ya look like shit.” Ford has the decency to blush. Ha, take _that_. Ford shifts uncomfortably and, yeah, Stan needs him off like, yesterday. “And yer heavy as fuck. Get off.” Ford huffs but complies and stands with a groan. He's a little unsteady and kinda gets really focused when he sees the sandwich. Fucking nerd. Stan gets his own ass off the ground with a grunt. “Yeah, that's fer you.” Ford tucks in and fucking inhales the sandwich and pops the cola and chugs it. Stan is still a little pissed, but, yeah. His brother is still just a nerd that can't even feed himself when he gets in the zone. Ford comes back to the present and looks a little bashful.

      “Ah, thank you.” Ford says and wipes his mouth delicately.

      “Yeah, well, can't have ya kick it yet. Ain’t on the will.” Stan rubs the back of his neck. Ford clears his throat.

      “You, ah. Can leave now.” Ford says not looking at him. Stan frowns. And then gets angry.

      “That's it? What am I, yer butler?” Stan snaps. Ford looks a little guilty, what the fuck.

      “That's, not, ah. What I meant. I--” Ford pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs. “I didn't, ah, think you'd want to see me.”

     Stan feels his eyebrows scrunch up.

      “Why the fuck’d ya think that?” What's his idiot brother thinking? Ford looks a little nervous. Ah, fuck, this is gonna get weird.

      “Well, after, ah, what Bill did I assumed you would...be uncomfortable.” Ford’s looking off to the side.

      “Ya fuckin lost me, Sixer.” Stan says.

      “Well, what Bill did was...I’m sure it was...I mean.” Ford takes a deep breath. “He raped you.” Ford’s looking at him all earnest and Stan feels his gut drop and twist and then get right into his throat.

      “What the fuck are you talking about.” Stan’s voice is so low and vicious Ford flinches.

      “I know it's a hard thing to accept--”

      “There's nothin to fucking accept, Ford! What the actual fuck?” Stan is livid and Ford is starting to look a little angry, too.

      “He tricked you into sex, Stanley! That's coercion!” Stan snorts, fists balling at his side.

      “He was sleazy as fuck but he didn't--it wasn't _that_.” Stan feels queasy, his skin is too tight. He wants this conversation over, _now_.

      “Stanley, be reasonable.”

      “Fuck you, Sixer!” Stan shouts and Ford is getting into a strop.

      “Stanley--”

      “No, this conversation is over.” Stan turns and stomps away, stopped when Ford grabs his arm. Stan whips around, snarling. But Ford’s face looks so, so desperate.

      “No, Stan, I'm sorry, I just--”

      “Spit it out, Sixer.” Stan taps a foot for emphasis. Ford swallows, the hand on his arm gentles.

      “You don't hate me, do you?” Ford asks, all small and soft like they're kids again. Stan’s heart does a little turn.

      “What? Ford, why the fuck would I hate you?” Stan is just bewildered as fuck.

      “I... he was wearing my face when he…” Ford takes a deep breath. “Betrayed you. Used you.”

      “Ford, that wasn't you. If anything, you should hate me. I mean,” Stan uses his free hand to rub the back of his neck. “Most people don't fuck their brothers.” Stan shoot Ford a self-depreciating smile. And Stan gets a really mixed signal when Ford blushes to the tips of his ears.

      “Yes, ah, I had not...anticipated that.” Ford finally let's Stan go. He looks almost...shy. Stan gets an idea. A wonderfully, _awful_ idea.

      “What's happenin in that big ol nerd brain o’ yours.” Stan relaxes his stance, crosses his arms. Maybe he kicks out a hip. Maybe. He fights the impending smirk.

      “Ah, nothing. Merely...perhaps I should--I’ve been in the basement quite a while. A week? Far too long.” Ford makes to leave, brushing past Stan, but.

      “Ford, ya ain't showered in a week. And I bet ya ain't eaten that much, either, given that ya fucking inhaled that sandwich.” Stan smirks at him. Ford flushes darker.

      “I. Yes, I suppose tending to my personal hygiene would be wise.” Stan claps him on the back.

      “Good! And while you're at it, I'll make a real dinner for ya.”

      “I just ate.”

      “Yeah, and ya damn near choked how fast ya scarfed it down.” Stan’s not budging.

      “I'm not a child, Stanley.” He huffs but lets Stan guide him back upstairs. Stan just hums.

      When they exit the basement, Stan shoos Ford away.

      “And put on some clean clothes!” Stan calls and he can hear Ford scoff.

     Alone in the kitchen, Stan starts to plan. This is Stanford, dumb as a brick in the people department. Can't be subtle but can't rush it. Stan’s gotta be sure, too. ‘Cause if he fucks this up, it's over. Done. Nothing could fix that. So, Stan schemes ‘cause he's good at that.

 

When Ford comes back downstairs he's pinked from the shower and his fluffy hair is sticking up from being toweled dried. He's fucking adorable. Ford comes into the kitchen and blinks in confusion.

     Stan’s set the table, actually set it. He's wearing an apron and pouring pasta from a pot to a colander. It steams in his face, fogging his glasses. He grumbles and switches the pasta from the colander to a bowl and drops a pat of butter on it.  He moves back to the stove, stirring the sauce.

      “Bolognese?” Ford asks, walking up beside Stan.  

      “Dunno what that is but if it's spaghetti, yeah.” Stan grabs a ladle, plops it into the sauce. It splashes and Ford jerks back. “Take a seat, Pointdexter.” Stan points the sauce spoon to the table flicking sauce, again.

      “You were so insistent that I get clean and yet you are trying to cover me with sauce.” Ford says dryly as he takes a seat.

      “It's not my fault if yer in the splash zone. Stan grabs the pasta and starts to serve Ford before moving to serve himself. Ford is eyeing him suspiciously, because, yeah, Stan’s laying it on a bit thick. He places the pasta on the table and ladles sauce for them both. He retrieves garlic bread from the oven and places that on the table. Stan removes the apron and plops it on the counter.

      “What's all this?” Ford is eyeing the food suspiciously. Stan shrugs, turning and, with the final touch, produces two wine glasses on the table.

      “It's not a Chianti, but it's the best this town has.” Stan turns back with a green bottle and removes the cork with a ‘pop.’ He pours the glasses and settles into his seat. Ford is full on doing the suspicious dissection. Stan just smiles blithely and raises his glass. “A toast.” Ford grabs his own glass.

      “To what?” Ford cautiously raises his glass. Stan looks thoughtful.

      “Hm. To family. I guess.” Stan tips his glass forward. Ford softens and clinks his glass to Stan’s. They eat in easy silence; whenever Ford's glass gets low, Stan fills it. Soon Ford is flushed with a good meal and the mild warmth of the wine.  Stan cleans the meal, riding his own small buzz. Ford is looking at him with deep concentration and Stan just smiles back. Before long Ford stands and carefully walks over to Stan’s side, silently offering to help with the dishes. He’s still watching Stan and it's starting to get weird. Stan clears his throat, startling Ford just a bit.

      “Something on yer mind, Sixer?" Stan asks mildly, drying a fork delicately. Ford furrows his brows, big nerd brain chugging.

      “You,” he starts. “Stanley, are you trying to seduce me?” Ford's face is straight and serious and Stan is torn between guilt and humor and _oh shit._ So, he sputters.

      “What? Sixer, why you, ah, why you askin?”

      “Stanley,” oh, God, no. The parent voice. “You have implied a sexual attraction to me; you have served an intimate meal with special deference toward me; you have been trying to get me drunk.” Ford leans forward and, shit, Pointdexter ain't nearly as drunk as he seems. “Stanley, are you trying to seduce me?” Ford's face is intense and hyper focused on Stan, just Stan. It's a little hot.

      “Uh.” Stan grips the fork like a life line. “I wasn't tryin' ta get ya drunk.” Ford frowns.

      “You filled my glass far more often than yours. Evidence suggests that you were attempting sobriety while attempting to intoxicate me.” Now Stan frowns.

      “I was told it was a nice wine, Sixer. Thought you and yer need brain would enjoy it.” Stan shrugs. Ford is still giving him that shrewd look. Ford gently takes the fork from his hands and sets it on the drying rack. “Uh, Sixer?” Oh, shit. This ends with Stan getting fucked up or fucked over. Ford leans forward, gently grabbing Stan’s face. “Shit, Ford, _are_ you drunk?” Stan puts his hands on Ford’s chest and pushing slightly.

      “No.” Ford says and Stan believes him, because, wow. Ford’s not even a little shaky or dull. He gently leans into Stan’s space but stops when their foreheads touch.

      “Stan,” Ford’s breath puffs against Stan’s lips. He smells like garlic and wine. “May I kiss you?” He asks and Stan chokes a laugh.

      “You an inter-dimensional space demon?” Stan asks. Ford pulls back, frowning.

      “Stan--”

      “No, sorry. Shouldn't a said anything.” Stan shrugs. “But, I'd be down with a bit of necking.” Stan leers for good measure. Ford just huffs, shaking his head, before leaning into Stan’s space again. Ford kisses him gently--his lips are slick with butter and Stan can taste tomato sauce.

     Turns out that tonight, Stan might _just_ get fucked.

 


End file.
